Hannibal Unbound
by Alice Ariell
Summary: The aftermath of what happened in Hannibal's kitchen still haunts all those involved. As Will tries to come to terms with who he is now and what he still has to do to ensure justice for the dead, Hannibal questions his decision to leave Will behind...
1. Chapter 1

_Will__'__s head tilts back into the stream, allowing water to swim past his ears. There is a slow and steady heat swelling from the sun. Abigail giggles, feet away, slightly splashing as she stretches flat against the water. Alana brings her easy calm as she hums a soft melody from the shore. Jack slathers on sun block as he floats in an inflatable chair. Beverly dives from a high boulder. Will is dumbfounded. Even with his wild imagination, he could never have predicted such a perfect moment in time. But, after all, the summer is inevitable__…_

Low murmurs in the room. A strangled sob. Steady beeping. Cold.

_"__When I was little, I would imagine I was adopted. That I had a perfect mom and dad that would take me away from him__…__and then you saved me,__" __Abigail muses as she and Will continue to float along a river without end. _

_ "__I used to imagine I adopted you. I wanted to__…__help you feel safe. I knew you needed that, and I__…__I didn__'__t know how to give it to you. I failed you,__" __Will admits slowly. _

_ "__You could have stopped him. You were going to. But you weren__'__t the only one who knew how to use a lure.__"_

"I told him to go inside, Jack," Alana whispers in a broken voice.

Will feels a hand on his. He cannot move. He can hardly think. He's swimming…

"I. Pushed. Him. Alana. I pushed him when I knew he was baiting the Ripper. I pushed him when I knew that the Ripper wanted nothing more than to destroy us all. Hell, I told Will he needed therapy and _had_ to see Hannibal, I…" even the unshakable Jack Crawford is weeping. Will's nearly lifeless body lies still in the hospital bed, invaded by tubes and machines working tirelessly to keep him alive. If only he could tell them he'd worked all this out in therapy weeks ago. That he was ready to sink back and out of this life. He wondered if the next would be peaceful…

_"__He can__'__t hurt us anymore, ya know,__" __Abigail says with a smile. _

_ "__He will always live in a room inside my head,__" __Will warns her._

_ "__Yeah. But what makes you think you__'__ll be in your head much longer? I think all we have to do is close our eyes, and we__'__ll float away into the calm forever.__"_

_ "__I want to.__"_

Hannibal Lecter sips absently at an espresso. Bedelia glances calmly at the busy Rue. A tablet lies on the small table between them, aglow with an article open. There is a large image of a mortally wounded man lying half naked on a hospital bed, skin pale but for the sickly green light the monitors cast against his skin.

"Tasteless," Bedelia finally utters.

"It's archaic. She's placing his head on a spike for the villagers to see," Hannibal says in an even tone. He does not want to reveal any emotion in front of his equal. He has paid the price of vulnerability and refuses to admit that the image before him sickens him. He knows that Will had to pay dearly for his deception, but in the end, he is pleased that Will is strong enough to survive his gutting. Now that the teacup is broken beyond repair, there is no longer a threat.

"Mr. Graham has suffered enough," Bedelia agrees.

"Do we not all suffer?"

Bedelia looks dubious. "You cannot deny that few mortal men have endured what Will Graham has…and lived."

"Do you call what Will is doing now, 'living'?"

"No," she responds quickly. "But one day, he may rise from the ashes."

Hannibal smiles. "Nothing would make me happier than to look up and see him walking towards me."

"What will prevent him from doing just that?"

"I took away his reason to live. As Jack Crawford took away mine."

"You believe that had it not been for Mr. Crawford, you would have succeeded in a total seduction of his mind?"

"All alternative scenarios thrum with kinetic energy before the fatality of occurrence decimates them."

Hannibal signals for a dessert menu.

"I used to imagine what it would be like to be with you. Wake up naked, covered in puppies and look over at you…"

Alana's eyes trace the tube from the respirator to Will's lips. His chest is exposed and covered in wires and bandages. A nurse is stationed just outside the room. The team has had a close call with him already tonight. Everyone is on edge.

"I should have trusted you…the way I trusted _him_…but you scared me, Will. You didn't hold anything back, and I…hold _everything _back. Just the way he taught me to…" she buries her face in her hands. She is still in a wheelchair-both of her legs broke during her fall, not to mention the damage to her spine. But she doesn't care. She is lucky. Compared to what happened to Will. To Abigail. Her throat constricts. Darkness enters her heart like an old friend.

And then she feels his pointer finger twitch.

**12 Weeks Later**

The sun is hot against Will's hand as he steadies the gun. His trigger finger itches. A team of agents flank him.

His perp grins dumbly at him and scratches his groin. "What are you going to do with that, pretty boy?"

"Martin Ramsey, you are under arrest. You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be held against you-"

"Waiiiiit. You're that guy. That _guy. _The one that saved that little Hobbs bitch."

The gun fires before the electrons in Will's brain connect.

"WILL."

He saunters into Jack's office, then slouches in the chair in front of him, looking bored.

"What the hell happened back there? We were covering you." Jack eyes his protege with distrust. Ever since he returned to the FBI, he had seemed different. At least in the hospital, Jack could read him. A Broken Man. This person sitting before him had an entirely different sensibility. He was throwing Jack off, and he didn't like it.

"He had a knife, Jack."

"He had a knife. And you had a gun. And backup. And now he's in the ICU."

"Sometimes bad things happen to bad people," he says with a shrug.

"What is _wrong _with you? Is your brain inflamed again or did Hannibal dig his hands so deeply into your skull that you can't comprehend right and wrong anymore!" Jack bellows.

Will makes laser beam eye contact. The intensity of his gaze bores into Jack's stone brown eyes. "I know the difference between right and wrong, Jack. Martin Ramsey destroyed seven women. I destroyed his ability to do that again. One just sin is a small price for seven devastations."

"A 'just' sin? Now you're arguing that there can be justice in sinning…you _know_ who you sound like, don't you." This is not a question. This is an accusation.

"Ramsey lost an appendage, Jack. That doesn't mean I'm going to _eat it_. He was apprehended _because of me_ and will serve his jail sentence. I don't see what the problem is."

The unshakable Jack Crawford is at a loss for words. The man sitting before him is cocky, narcissistic, aggressive and unaffected.

"The problem is that you broke the law, Will. You disfigured Ramsey unnecessarily-"

"The poetry of his body will be written in articles read all over the world," Will says slowly, a strange glint in his eyes. The first glint that Jack fully comprehends.

"No. Will, no. You can't do this. You can't bait him. Not again."

"I don't know what you're taking about," Will says with a smile.

"No. He won't buy it this time. And you can't afford to make any more mistakes. My superiors have been debating whether or not to arrest you and have you evaluated again. What happened today may given them cause enough to do it."

Will considers this. "If they put me in Baltimore again, I'll give Freddie Lounds the exclusive interview of the year. Her fan base is already in the hundred thousands. I'll tell her how the FBI has been abusing me, and that now you've decided to sweep me under the rug to keep Hannibal's escape under wraps."

Jack gazes at Will sadly. He cannot dispute that that is _exactly_ what his superiors want. Purnell kept pressing Jack to have Will brought in for a new psych eval, but he just hadn't had the heart to do it. She was worried, with good reason, that Will was a loose cannon the FBI just couldn't afford.

"You can't bait Hannibal by committing crimes. There was a time when you understood that. Now…you're still under his influence."

"I'm not."

"You aren't yourself. Your moral compass has been tampered with, Will."

"_All I want to do is catch him_."

"Consequences don't matter to a man that doesn't care what happens to him as long as he gets what he wants."

"What are you saying? I'm being masochistic?" Will's shoulders crack involuntarily.

"I'm saying I think you've chose to play a dangerous game."

Will's back straightens. "Chosen? Ever since you invited Hannibal Lecter to psychoanalyze me, I've been forced to play his game. Play or die. Be interesting or be dessert. But the rules have changed."

"And what rules were those?"

"As long as I was weaker than he was, he could move me like one of so many pawns. But he was bored with pawns and no true opponent. He built me up into…someone he liked, but someone that could potentially hurt him. He enjoyed the danger…enjoys…"

"Even so, Hannibal doesn't make mistakes. He would never risk coming back here."

"Maybe not. But what do you think he would do if _I_ came to _him_?"

"He tried to kill you, Will. He tried to kill us all. He is stronger and smarter than you'll ever be. What makes you think he won't do to you what he did to Miriam Lass? To Abigail?"

"I'll have backup."

"I can't guarantee that. Not that it matters, since _we don__'__t know where he is._"

"No, we don't. Not yet."


	2. Chapter 2

**Dear Fannibals, The He-Ate-Us has returned, and though we are still in bitter mourning over the aftermath of Everything In Season . My. Lord, this is the time to band together and get all creative and novel-y! My work keeps me very busy, but I always reserve time for writing. I love Bryan Fuller****'****s creation so much that I refuse to stop contemplating all of the many routes season 3 may go. Let us meander into the rues of Paris and search for our anti-hero together****…****allonz-y! **

Chapter 2

Hannibal Lecter strokes the black and white picture of his former protege. Smiling, he passes the newspaper to Bedelia. She reads the article in a few moments, sips absently at her tea, then looks into his eyes with a blank expression.

"Sometimes I imagine he had not betrayed me. Sometimes I picture walking into my kitchen and seeing Abigail sneak a glass of wine as Will prepares dinner…"

Bedelia bows her head. "You miss him."

Hannibal sniffs. "I miss the ideal…I imagined he was."

"Someone who could understand you completely. Someone who accepts you, despite your…proclivities," Bedelia guesses in a hushed tone.

"Yes." Hannibal smoothes the wrinkles in his relaxed cotton button down. His new disguise is proving less pleasant than he had contemplated. He looks deeply into her eyes. "_You _accept me."

"I do." A glance at the cobblestones. Another sip of tea.

"Why?"

The corners of her lips twitch. "You are…unique. Since you were a young man, I knew you were…special. Worth protecting."

"Protecting?" He is amused. "Protecting from whom?"

"From people with less…vision."

"I am perfectly capable of protecting myself."

Bedelia looks incredulous. "Your behavior is incredibly reckless. You place yourself in impossible situations from which there is no escape. You pretend you can play Houdini forever, but you can't, Hannibal. One day, you'll lock yourself into chains you cannot remove."

"Chains are a curious thing. Prometheus was punished by Zeus, for giving man the gift of fire, by being chained to a rock. A vulture would come and eat his liver, and each day it would grow back to restart the feast. I've often wondered if the vulture was a cursed God that resented Prometheus."

"A fowl with foul intentions," Bedelia grins.

"In some versions of the myth, Heracles saves Prometheus. The two work together to destroy the vulture."

"Surely you can understand the vulture's appetites," she dares to say.

He smiles to himself. "Sometime's I dream I am Prometheus, bound to the rock. Will flies toward me with great, white wings. He smiles at me as he guts me, sticks his hands inside me, and tears out my liver. He eats it raw, hovering in front of me, his chest glistening with my blood." Bedelia's eyes dilate. "There are nights I imagine that Will is Prometheus and I am Heracles. Most regularly, I dream that I have great golden wings. Will is already cut open, chained. All I have to do is pluck his organs like grapes off the vine."

This is the most honest conversation the two have ever shared. And she is terrified.

Five minutes of silence pass. Finally, Bedelia says, "I want you to participate in an exercise, Hannibal."

"An exercise? Certainly we are passed such trivial thought processes."

"Indulge me." More suffocating silence. "I want you to stop reading what is written about Will Graham. Stop wondering about him."

Hannibal's lips purse involuntarily. "Thinking about him is not a choice I can make."

"I thought you were in control of _all_ of your decisions. Why is he an exception to the rule?"

"He was always…exceptional. Even when he was quite rude." Hannibal smiles, recalling their chance meeting, how disagreeable Will was. How broken. How easily manipulated…

The waiting room of his state mandated psychiatrist is small and cramped. The woman across from him, reading a worn hardcover of _War and Peace _sighs. She looks up at Will."I've never read something so _tedious_ in my life," she says, smiling.

"No, I suppose not," he agrees, with a quick, awkward smirk.

She closes the book and replaces it inside her oversized leather bag. "I'm not really a magazine person."

"You don't seem to be a Tolstoy person either. Let me guess, Dickens?"

"Well, yes," she replies, fixing a strand of winding brown hair behind her ear. "But my Russian Literature Professor doesn't seem to care what I'd rather read."

Dr. Nichols steps out of his office. He is a tall American with peppered hair in a navy blue suit. Will's new FBI appointed psychiatrist beams with interest. "Good afternoon, Molly. How are you feeling?"

Molly quirks a smile but avoids eye contact and lowers her eyes back to her novel. "Wonderful," she responds dryly.

"Good. Good. Will, please come in."

A slow, annoyed exhale. He enters the office with a face of stone. At least he wasn't talking to Hannibal. But this man could never understand what he had experienced in his former doctor's 'care.'

Will expects to see a simple office. He enters a room outfitted for a polygraph test. "What's this?"

"Please take off your jacket, Mr. Graham. We'll need to unbutton the shirt as well, to place the leads."

"Excuse me? What is this? I thought this was therapy. Not an invasive interrogation. Jack didn't mention any of this."

"That is because Mr. Crawford is not privy to your case any more."

"My _case_? Am I under investigation or being charged with something?"

"No, no. Not yet anyway," Dr. Nichols offers an unreassuring smile. "We just need to make sure that Dr. Lecter didn't turn you into a threat. Like he did to Miriam Lass. And Abigail Hobbs."

Will's hands itch to beat this man bloody. "Don't say her name," he whispers, menacingly.

Mr. Nichols nods. "Would you say the name 'Abigail' triggers you into anger, Mr. Graham?"

Clenched jaw. "Just. Don't." Will thought he was prepared for this ambush. Instead, he feels a cold sweat. The itch in his hands begins to _burn_.

"Was it Abigail that disarmed you? So that your captor could attack you?"

A white light. "My _captor_?"

"You were Hannibal Lecter's prisoner, were you not? He forced you to come to his home and be the subject of his therapy. Under his influence, he fed you human flesh."

The room begins to tilt. He feels hands pull his coat off. "Stop," he protests.

"Mr. Graham, you need to cooperate. You were implicit in multiple murders-"

"No, _no,_ I was-"

"_And _mutilated the body of a man in a way that will haunt many of us."

Will cannot deny that this was his most horrific act. What he did to Randall Tier, in the name of getting close to Hannibal was…unforgivable. He unbuttons the top of his shirt and sits down. He rolls up his shirt sleeves. Dr. Nichols sits across from him, hands resting on a stack of tests.

**Reviews spur me on3**


	3. Chapter 3

** Chapter 3**

The drone of words dent the windows of Will's mind. "What is your greatest regret?" He forgets where the words are coming from. He forgets Dr. Nichols' cheap, car dealer eyes. He feels Hannibal tugging at the edges of his mind, like folded corners of a page from a burnt book.

"Being naive about my expectations."

"What were the expectations of your deep cover mission with Dr. Lecter?" Dr. Nichols leans forward. Will's visions plays tricks on him. Suddenly his new psychiatrist is wearing a sharp, plaid suit. And then he's wearing a person suit with a different doctor's face.

Will swallows. "I expected to die."

"You almost _did.__" _Now the voice is laden with an accented gravel.

"Consequences of the only cards left for me to play."

Will feels close to vomiting when the room spins with tilt-a-whirl speed. The impeccably macabre office thunders to a halt.

Dr. Lecter tilts his neck, ever. so. slightly. "Is something wrong?"

Will closes his eyes and slows his breathing. He had become prone to panic attacks. Instead of seeing the black, horned monster, he was now stalked by the man in the flesh- who always held the curved blade. He knows Hannibal isn't even in the country…or _thinks _he knows. In truth, Will feels a sickness in his gut, telling him his torture could not be over. Not with both men alive and free.

"No. No, I'm…fine. I'm fine," Will stammers as he opens his eyes.

Still his dearly departed doctor in a three piece suit. "Why would you risk your life?"

"It's like you said before. I was his…victim.

_Abigail crying as Hannibal cuts into her throat. Hobbs cuts into her. Hannibal. Hobbs. Will. Hannibal. Hannibal. Hannibal. Her blood splashing against Will__'__s face, his mouth__…_

"I believed I was working under cover with Jack. Maybe I was. But I was…_I_ _let him manipulate me_, naively dreaming of his arrest, but knowing in my heart that the devil is always ten steps ahead."

Dr. Nichols leans forward. Will is finally snapping out of his episode. "I want you to honestly listen to what I am about to tell you Mr. Graham. The atrocities Hannibal Lecter has performed will be catalogued amongst the horrors of history. He is a psychopath the likes of which can only stem from evil. But he is not evil itself."

"You don't know that," Will finds himself whispering.

"I do," suddenly Dr. Nichols looks sympathetic. Kind, even. "I know that he was a born, that he was a child, that he grew up and experienced things that would shape what he became as a man."

"That doesn't mean he isn't the devil."

Dr. Nichols sighs and writes something down on his note pad. "Mr. Graham, people who believe they can see the devil are often categorized as schizophrenic-"

"_That__'__s_ what this is about," Will says in a whisper. "Someone in the FBI wants to sweep me under the rug. Let me guess, Purnell is pulling your strings?"

"Paranoia is also very common in patients suffering for schizophrenic episodes." Dr. Nichols adds, eyes focused on his new scribblings.

"Just tell me if I'm right," Will asks, jaw tensed.

"Ms. Purnell _is _in charge of your case, but that does not mean that-"

"Stop right there. I won't be answering any more of your questions. When I was held in Baltimore, Ms. Purnell offered to make life sentence in a maximum security asylum _comfortable _for me. As long as I kept my mouth shut. Well you can tell Ms. Purnell that my lips are sealed. I know Dr. Lecter is just a man. But I am the _only_ person capable of catching him."

"The entire FBI is working around the clock-"

"What happened to me…to Jack_…__could_ have been prevented if she had not intervened. So tell her I'm ready for her to make it up to me. Tell her…I'm ready to end this."

Agent Purnell purses her lips. "Mr. Graham, I do not know why you suddenly believe that you can act as an agent of the FBI. You have always been classified as a high risk, and that was when Jack had clout enough to defend you."

She sits perched on the edge of her seat. Will leans forward in his, towards their shining mahogany barrier. "I can catch him."

"The way you and Jack caught him in his kitchen?" she snaps back.

"I was caught off guard," Will says quietly.

"That's one way of putting it."

"Abigail was his _checkmate_. He'll never be able to surprise me like that again."

"He gutted you, Mr. Graham. In the official report, you claimed to have been carrying a fire arm at the time."

"Yes."

"Why'd you let him get so close?" her expression is a mixture of bafflement and disgust.

Will takes a moment to organize his response. "It isn't easy to explain being in Hannibal Lecter's thrall. I was…unprepared. I thought I knew enough to predict him. But I never imagined I would see her again. And I didn't imagine I would survive."

"To be honest, neither did I." Purnell says with her eyebrows raised. "You didn't see yourself in the hospital. There were _many _close calls." She would never admit it, but she spent a great deal of time checking up on him. A sense of guilt played hide-and-seek in her skull.

"I survived him," he whispers, eyes closed, envisioning the photograph Freddie Lounds took and sold to the media.

"Perhaps only because he want you to," she replies, carefully. "I cannot offer you the support of the FBI."

"What_ can_ you offer me?"

The room is sitting close to the event horizon of circumstance. "Officially? I can refer you to an FBI psychiatric facility. I can also warn you that the government is not keen on a written version of your story hitting the press."

"What the FBI wants and what it _needs_ are two very different things," he replies through clenched teeth.

A squint of the eyes. "What is your relationship with Mason Verger?"

Will is stunned for a moment. He hadn't pondered _his _perspective. "I don't have a relationship with him."

"But you _did _have one with his sister."

"The FBI is poking 'round my lovers now?"

"Ms. Verger was at your bedside more than once. I spoke with her in the hospital. She was very concerned about you."

Will is shocked by how touched he is to hear of Margot's concern. Though she appeared to have used him in her attempt to secure an heir, he didn't doubt that she had every reason to act in desperation. Mason's decision to make his own sister barren disgusted him in ways that Hannibal matched.

"And you are interested in this information because?" he grumbles.

"Again, I am limited in what I can officially discuss. For instance, I couldn't tell you that Mason Verger has approached the FBI in regards to apprehending Hannibal Lecter. He has offered considerable financial support."

Again, a wave of confusion and doubt. He wanted Hannibal to be apprehended, but he didn't want Mason Verger to exact his revenge. Something about that ending was revolting to him. One monster destroying another, becoming more powerful…He needed to see Hannibal one last time. The scar ached to see its maker.

"You can't trust Mason with information. He's insane. He'll want to trap Lecter and kill him himself. Preferably with his pigs."

"No, the _FBI_ can't trust him." Purnell glances at her watch. "I have a meeting. I hope our conversation has brought some clarity to you, Mr. Graham."

As she vanishes through a set of glass doors, Will realizes what he must do. He grits his teeth and stands.

Bedelia arranges a fistful of wildflowers as Hannibal enters the kitchen. Noticing a stem longer than the rest, he selects a blade. She swallows and steps aside. He gingerly removes the uneven flower, cuts it, and then places it back into the arrangement in a new and perfect position.

"How was your day?" he asks, going to retrieve two glasses and a bottle of red wine.

"Like watching an oil painting dry," she replies.

"I'm sorry to hear that. Mine was actually quite interesting," he gloats.

"Oh?"

"I've discovered that my current position may be in jeopardy." Now in Tuscany with a forged identity, Hannibal chose to become curator of a rather ancient and sacred museum. His knowledge and demeanor won him the job, which he only wanted as a pastime, really. Nothing bothered Hannibal more than boredom-other than rudeness, of course.

"It was always a risk. But you seemed…adamant. What has happened?"

"Nothing to be concerned about. I have caught the eye of a tenacious detective, but he poses no real threat."

"Not the way Jack Crawford did."

Hannibal smiles. "No, certainly not. Still, every mistake bares fruit from which we must taste and grow."

"Your ever-broadening palate longs for a new flavor?" She knows she is treading water, but she cannot help herself. She feels certain he has killed again, and recently.

"Actually, I long for something I know too well. This foolish detective is simply spurring me to act on my desires."

"Which are?" She fears his answer.

He pauses, sniffs his wine, and locks eyes with her. "I've been thinking about all those I've left behind. Particularly, Will." His answer does not surprise her. "While I am here, enjoying life with you, he is in his little house in Virginia, with his memories. I'm sure that feels like being in a prison cell."

"You had no trouble institutionalizing him," she notes, taking a needed sip of wine.

Hannibal looks confused. "I merely suggested that Will call Jack when he discovered Abigail's ear. _Jack_ arrested him and sent him for treatment. Perhaps Will let that memory shrink out of sight."

"Ah, yes. That poor girl…" Bedelia grips her gaze onto the flowers.

Hannibal looks pensive. "Do you think me cruel?"

Bedelia's eyes face him with cool honesty. "I think your curiosity gets the better of you."

"You think I lack control?" this conversation has become infinitely amusing to him.

"You use control like a shield, but also a weapon. You allow Curiosity and Chance to become the foot soldiers of Control, but in doing so, you leave them to their own agendas."

"What is _your_ agenda, Dr. DuMaurier?" he steps forward so that her eyes are on his neck, his lips.

"I think you need someone who understands you. We all do." Kindness can be a kind of narcotic.

Hannibal took her face in his hand, stroked her hair. "You remind me so much of her, you know." She knew he was referring to his aunt, Lady Murasaki. They had discussed her _at length. _He kissed her calmly on the lips before briskly leaving the kitchen. He had arrangements to make.


End file.
